


The Jar

by pathologxst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly Valentine's Day fic, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pathologxst/pseuds/pathologxst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only fifteen hours to Valentine's Day, but Sherlock doesn't have a gift for his girlfriend, Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jar

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely Syolen. I hope you have a great Valentine's day! x

Sherlock knew from the look on John’s face that he’d done something wrong. What it was however, he had no clue. This was of course, hugely unsettling, since he liked knowing everything.

“Oh for god’s sake,” he snapped. “What’s the matter?”

John gaped for a while longer before composing himself. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot what?”

“What day it is tomorrow.”

“It’s Friday.”

John sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I know it’s a Friday, Sherlock. But what’s going to happen?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Nothing. It’s a day like any other.”

The army doctor closed his eyes. Decidedly not good. Very not good. “It’s Valentine’s day tomorrow, you clot.”

The consulting detective blinked, his eyes darting to the sides before settling on his friend’s face again. “So?”

“So?” John echoed. “You’ve been in a relationship with Molly for close to nine months, and it’s going to be your first Valentine’s together! You can’t just forget about it! Why would you delete this?!”

“Because it’s not important.”

“Not -”

“Yes, not important,” Sherlock retorted. “Valentine’s day is a hugely commercialised occasion that is meant to pressure people into buying disposable gifts. And Molly has mentioned that she doesn’t particularly like it.”

“Women don’t really mean what they say sometimes. Mary said that she didn’t want anything last year. Gave me quite the glare when I didn’t buy her a gift.”

Sherlock frowned. “Molly’s not like that. We agreed to be straightforward with each other.”

“Mate, trust me. I know women better than you do. You’re in trouble if you don’t get Molls anything.”

John looked so serious that Sherlock felt the first tinge of panic hit him. He didn’t want to upset Molly, especially not over something as stupid as this.

“What should I do?’ he asked, ignoring the smug look on John’s face. He decided he would get his friend back later. Maybe he would embarrass him during a case.

“Well, you’ve got –” John looked to his watch. “– fifteen hours before it’s Friday. You should start doing some research. Maybe look through some women’s magazines? And the Internet?”

Sherlock ran a hand through his curls, ruffling them in frustration. It was time to get to work.

* * *

The magazines proved to be completely useless. Everything printed was absurd, and there was nothing that Molly would particularly like.

The Internet was not much help either. The suggested gifts were all dull and boring; nothing seemed to be good enough.

In short, he _was_ in trouble.

Sherlock slammed his laptop on the table and closed his eyes. This would not do. He’d have to resort to his traditional method of brainstorming.

* * *

Many screechy tunes, a lot of pacing about, some loud talking (Mrs Hudson had given up and left the flat) and twelve hours later, Sherlock Holmes finally came up with something.

He’d never been more nervous in his life.

* * *

“You wanted to see me?” Molly asked, coming into the flat. She went over to give him a light peck on the cheek before plonking herself on the sofa. Her gracelessness was ridiculously endearing to him.

“Yes.” He realised he was wringing his hands and stopped. “Today’s Valentine’s day.”

“I know,” Molly said, giving him a small smile. He fidgeted, looking down. “Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

He cleared his throat. It was now or never. No point in prolonging his agony.

“I got you a gift.”

The pathologist’s eyes widened. “You did?”

Sherlock brought out a jar and placed it in Molly’s arms, carefully studying her face, analysing every small change in her expression.

Her lips parted and her eyes watered. He swallowed hard.

“Is the heart not good?” he questioned, eyes darting about nervously. “I can’t actually give you my heart, so I had to get one from the morgue – not Bart’s morgue, of course. The heart is what you represent to me. I mean, you’re obviously much more than that, but I thought this would be fitting, seeing how you are the first and only person to have ever managed to make me feel this way about someone, and I wanted you to know that my heart belongs to you.”

God, he sounded like a rambling romantic idiot, but he didn’t know how to stop. He had to force himself to take a deep breath. “Not good?” he repeated.

Molly’s soft lips were on his almost instantly, small hands tugging on his collar to pull him deeper into their kiss. He moaned softly when she drew her tongue across the seam of his lips, gently parting them. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, drawing her closer.

“So you like the heart then?” he murmured after they broke apart, leaning his forehead on hers.

“I love it, Sherlock. It’s very…you,” she giggled, tiptoeing to kiss him lightly on his nose, causing his lips to twitch.

“You can put it on the mantel,” he said, plucking the jar from her arms and placing it beside Billy the skull.

Molly cocked her head. “So I have to come over whenever I feel like looking at the heart?”

“Or you could just move in,” he blurted.

“What?”

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “It’s more practical to share a flat,” he said. “Baker Street is much closer to Bart’s, having sex would be a lot easier –” Molly narrowed her eyes, “– and I want you here,” he finished, not daring to meet her gaze.

Molly continued staring at him for a long time, and he started to get uncomfortable by her intensity of her look.

“Molly? Wha – umf!” He was forced a few steps back as she flung her arms around his neck. She was surprisingly strong despite her small frame.

“Oh Sherlock…” she whispered.

“I take that as a yes then?”

Molly’s eyes shone as she leaned forward to kiss him, her fingers weaving gently through his curls. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. He almost protested when she drew away.

“I got you something too,” she smiled. She went over to her bag, pulling out a small box. It turned out to be a magnifying glass – he’d damaged his a few days ago due to a bad physical altercation during a case.

“I know it’s not much, but I thought you’d like it since it’s actually something you need,” she said with a nervous laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

He blinked a few times in quick succession. He rarely received gifts, and this was actually his very first Valentine’s day present. He was, as impossible as it sounded, _touched_.

Sherlock walked over to Molly and picked her up, giving her a tight hug and a deep kiss.

“I didn’t manage to get a reservation at any restaurant,” he confessed. “What do you say to a lung dissection and some Thai takeaway, Molly Hooper?”

She laughed, tracing her fingers along his cheek. “Very romantic, Mr Holmes. Although I think that can wait, don’t you?” She shot him a playful smile, and his heart started pounding.

It wasn’t long before they were stumbling over to the couch, hands roaming over each other’s bodies as their tongues fought for dominance.

As his lips brushed over hers, he thought that maybe Valentine’s day wasn’t so bad after all.

* * *

Mrs Hudson was just about to step into 221B to do her daily chore of cleaning the flat when she heard a deep chuckle coming from the bedroom. More specifically, Sherlock’s bedroom.

She made her way inside curiously, and was halfway to his room when she spotted the jar of heart sitting proudly beside the skull, looking oddly like a perfect couple, connected by their morbidity.

“About bloody time,” she muttered, leaving the flat as quietly as she could, a huge grin on her face.


End file.
